


If I Should Stay

by Wizard95



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, a bit of a nanny mcphee situation if you squint, enemies to friends to lovers?, i'll keep tagging as i go (might add characters as well), rating will probably change later on, watch me tiptoe around the political aspects of the narrative like a pro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:07:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25773352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wizard95/pseuds/Wizard95
Summary: A fucking bodyguard. Some stuck-up tailored-suit driving him everywhere and picking him up from campus like he’s back in kindergarten. Wearing an earpiece and talking to himself like a bloody moron. Lurking behind him at the nightclub and keeping a close eye on the bartender and first-checking his drinks while he’s trying to pick up a shag for the night - absolutely fucking not.Or: the one in which Jaskier's the son of the Prime Minister and Geralt's his very own Frank Farmer.
Relationships: Ermion | Mousesack & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 23
Kudos: 120





	1. Chapter 1

“For the last fucking time-”

“Julian!” his mother cuts him off, slightly recoiling from him and placing an arm over her chest as if he’s just slapped her, “language!”

Jaskier closes his mouth, lets out a very deep sigh and fights a very strong urge to roll his eyes. She’d hate it. She’d hate it and right now he needs her on his side.

_Your side? There’s no ‘your side’. You’re already losing._

He tries a smile but it comes out a very strained one, “I do _not_. Need a bodyguard.”

“Too bad,” she says with a melodic voice, like she’s pointedly trying to piss him off, rub it in his face. _My house, my rules_. “We can’t have you just…” she waves a hand in the air and makes a disgruntled face, “…cycling around on that _thing_ unsupervised anymore. It’s not good for the public image.”

“Wha-? What the-? _You_ bought me that bike!” he argues, and instantly regrets it. He can almost see her counterattack taking up a corporeal form next to her, the form of a very sharp knife coming right for his jugular.

“Only so you would bin that rackety skate _\- for goodness sake!_ You are not _fifteen_ anymore, Julian. It’s high time you started acting like a man. You _are_ getting personal surveillance _and that is the end of it._ ”

And he doesn’t know what makes him turn his attention to George, undoubtedly the very orchestrator of it. He’s never made his father reconsider anything, anything at all, in his fucking lifetime.

He gives it a try anyway. He gives it a try, knowing he’ll hate himself for it later.

“Father,” Jaskier starts, keeping his breathing steady and biting his tongue. Mr. Pankratz still doesn’t look up. He continues to examine the printables splayed out on the desk in front of him with a frown, “father?”

“What do you think about… this?” he mutters to Eleanor, who leans down and shakes her head in disapproval.

“Too bland.”

“This one?”

“Perhaps… But I’d take out those blue ci-”

“I’m not a child! I will not have some goons in black following me around all bloody day like some pompous idiot!”

His mother takes in another sharp breath and snaps her head up to give him another one of her murderous glares. Jaskier wants to kick himself for his loose tongue but he can’t _help_ it, especially not when they’ve elected to ignore his say in the matter and gone ahead with it regardless.

A fucking bodyguard.

Some stuck-up tailored-suit driving him everywhere and picking him up from campus like he’s back in kindergarten. Wearing an earpiece and talking to himself like a bloody moron. Lurking behind him at the nightclub and keeping a close eye on the bartender and first-checking his drinks while he’s trying to pick up a shag for the night - absolutely fucking not.

“I won’t have this,” he exclaims, voice gone up an octave, index finger lifted accusingly and shaking his head in disagreement as if that’s going to make them change their already very made-up minds. He’s crying over spilt milk. “I won’t have it.”

And not very eloquently.

His father looks up with an icy glare, at last. It’s the first time he’s acknowledged his presence since he strolled in five minutes ago despite Yennefer strongly advising him against it. She even almost tripped over her high-heels trying to outrun him on his way to the studio.

“I won’t hear another word of it,” George says through gritted teeth, with a deep patience-strained voice, resolute, pronouncing sentence. Jaskier wants to take two steps forward and pick up the bundle of papers in front of him and turn around and toss them in the fireplace and see them become ash, little pieces of carbonized propaganda floating up in the air.

He doesn’t, he only holds his father’s gaze for five more seconds with a painfully clenched jaw before turning around and stomping out.

“Well heil _fucking_ Hitler!” he shouts, slamming the door so hard the furniture against the wall rattles. “I shit on this campaign!”

“Jaskier!” Yennefer whispers warningly from somewhere nearby.

He doesn’t even see her still standing there as he turns on the opposite direction and walks away.

“And I shit on your public _fucking_ image!”

* * *

Jaskier keeps his door well-locked as he unsuccessfully tries to find the dirtiest pair of converses he owns. He’s quite sure they even got splashed with paint at some point during one of his many artistic endeavours. He’s looked under his bed already, on the depths of the gigantic chest he keeps at the foot of it and in the many boxes stacked up on top of his wardrobe. They’re nowhere to be found and he’s about to settle for his pair of neon-coloured ones when his father’s personal assistant finally storms into the dormitory with the set of keys dangling from her slim fingers and looking every bit of a serial killer.

Jaskier laughs at her exasperation and turns around to continue his scavenge, she hurries towards the speakers and yanks the cable off, the room sinking in deafening silence after a good half hour of rattling windows.

“I thought you _liked_ Shakira,” Jaskier mocks, browsing through all the very spot-clean and soft-smelling shirts hanging in front of him. 

“I know what you’re doing,” Yennefer fumes, now next to him, looking impeccably goth - as always, “and let me tell you, it’s only going to put you back on his bad book.”

Jaskier lets out a laugh and picks out the funkiest-patterned most colourful shirt he’s got. 

He doesn’t even like it.

“You say that like I’ve ever been off it,” he holds it for her to see, she only keeps frowning.

“ _No._ ”

“You don’t like it?” Jaskier pouts.

“That is the ugliest shit I’ve ever seen,” she says in a sudden outburst of stress, and then quickly glances behind her to check nobody else has heard it. 

“Perfect!”

He’s about to put it on when she yanks it off his hands with a grunt.

“Hey! Eist gave me that! He’ll be happy to see me wear it, I reckon,” he leans in to try and get it back but Yennefer anxiously glances at her mobile phone and keeps it out of his reach, “for the first time in forever.”

“You’re not wearing this.”

“Who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth, huh? That’s awfully rude of you, Yennefer.”

Yen only rolls her eyes and pushes him aside to look for a piece of clothing that doesn’t look like someone’s vomited on it. She hands him a soft blue shirt with cuffs already pinned to it and takes a look at his feet to undoubtedly try and find a matching tie, only to see him wearing a pair of worn-out socks that were once white but now look the colour of dirt.

“You’re the son of the prime minister,” she barks, and turns around in direction to the footwear chest, “much as you try and act otherwise.”

Jaskier’s already put the plain shirt back on the hanger and is swinging on Eist’s horrid Secret Santa when she returns with those black oxfords.

This time she actually lets out a whine.

“Jaskier,” she begs, “ _please_.”

And Jaskier considers it. Just for a hint of a second. Looks at her mortified face and at the almost imperceptible dark bags under her eyes expertly hidden by velvety foundation. At her puppy indigo eyes and slightly rolled-up black sleeves and flushed cheeks from running to and fro. He considers it, and shakes his head.

“Maybe put a little bit of perfume on,” he says, scrunching up his nose and turning around in direction to the bathroom to drench himself in deodorant. He doesn’t hear her stomp back out of the room but there’s a muffled exasperated sound before she slams the door back closed.

There aren’t many things he can do to set his father’s teeth on edge, not when they barely see each other’s faces lately - so Sunday’s dinner it is. Complete with posh relatives and a bunch of main-course lobsters to bear witness. Couldn’t have gone better if he’d planned it. 

If only he could skate his way down the stairs with a Gay Pride flag painted all over his face.

Now _that_ would be the icing of the cake.

Oh well.

Looking like a party clown will have to do.

For now.

* * *

When it’s only quarter to eight he goes down to the living room, smelling a bit like a walking incense and keeping his shirt nicely tugged inside his shorts. Ciri is seated in there, so engrossed in the screen of her phone she doesn’t hear him approach until he flops on the sofa opposite. She flicks her eyes up uninterestedly but does a double-check at his preposterous outfit.

“Cousin.” Jaskier greets her, deadpan.

Cirilla gapes for only a little bit and throws an exciting look behind her to the studio’s double door, still closed.

“You didn’t,” she says, with the biggest grin and phone forgotten somewhere in between the fluffy cushions.

Jaskier fights down his own grin now, because if _Ciri_ is staring at him like _that_ he can only imagine the face his _mother_ will make when she walks out of their impromptu meeting looking as illustrious as a royal swan. It’s only a domino effect from there. If _she_ rages _his father_ rages, and there’s nothing Jaskier loves more than to see George Pankratz _raging_.

“It’s a shit rule, anyway,” Jaskier shrugs, bringing up a hand and expecting his nails with an air of boredom, “we’re not dining at Buckingham Palace.”

“Not yet,” his cousin smiles, and she settles back comfortably, one leg draped over the other, her shiny pointy footwear hanging in the air.

“Dya _like_ those ugly skirts?” Jaskier asks, flicking a hand towards her and the unnecessary grim colour of her whole ensemble.

“ _Heck_ no,” she answers almost instantly, “but unlike you, I don’t have a death wish.”

Jaskier shows her a very satisfied little smile and waves a hand vaguely in the air.

“Death Wish is my middle name.”

Eleanor only turns about three different shades of red when she walks out to see him comfortably sprawled on the carpeted floor wearing those checked shorts and psychedelic shirt. 

“Oh, for _goodness_ sake! I cannot _believe_ -!”

Cirilla’s slim finger taps on the screen of her smartphone and the video of the disaster raccoon stops playing. Jaskier gets on his feet and his mother gasps at the full view. 

She takes two steps forward with resolution, her white stilettos stomping against the floor menacingly, but stops herself when the rest of the family follow her out two seconds later. 

“At last!” Eist exclaims when he sees him, arms spread wide as if inviting him for a hug, Jaskier flashes him a smile, “you honour us with your presence, young Julian.”

His mother hides her contempt with a polite smile and ushers them into the next room as she mumbles something about the food getting cold. They find Yennefer quietly having a chat with the cook as she places a bottle of wine on top of the table.

His uncle catches him at the door and swings an arm over his shoulders with a glint in his eyes.

“Ah, classic Juls,” he smiles appreciatively, and when Ciri is past them he leans closer to his ear and mumbles, “have I ever told you you’re my favourite nephew?”

Jaskier can see Calanthe pursing her lips disapprovingly in their direction and pointedly exchanging a look with his mother, but neither comments on the state of his looks. His father is already staring daggers from his seat in the corner. 

God forbid anyone makes a scene on such a day! Such an occasion! Such a very repetitive dinner that they have every four weeks like their lives depend on it! Religiously. Monotonously. _Boringly._

“I’m your _only_ nephew,” Jaskier retorts before Eist pats him on the shoulder proudly and takes his own seat next to his wife. “In fact, I’m not even your family, you’re a total stranger.”

“Wouldn’t be a Pankratz if he weren’t on the spotlight,” Calanthe mutters, one of her many passive-aggressive outbursts of commentary that Jaskier’s learnt not to take personally. It's _his dad_ she’s got beef with but it's _him_ she takes it out on. He knows the drill. She’s only half-decent once she’s knocked back half a bottle of vodka and it isn’t a very common occurrence. 

“You’d know it, auntie” Jaskier barks back with a sour smile.

Eleanor lets out a very strained laugh at the remark, but everyone can see her clenching her jaw and gripping her glass of water with a bit of a firm grip. Jaskier even thinks he hears the sound of his mother’s teeth grinding against one another. 

“Shall we eat?” she exclaims, and it’s not late after that plates are full and glasses half-down, talk of politics only left behind after Eist enquires about the newest addition from the Security Enterprise to his father. Jaskier perks up at the mention of it, Ciri lifts her eyes at the mention of Lazlo, and Yennefer straightens up on her seat.

Jaskier sees her blink repeatedly at George’s question like her ears have stopped working and he feels sorry for her.

She’s rolled her shirt back to normal and her dark locks of hair look like they’ve been brushed since the last time he saw her thirty minutes ago.

She still looks sleep-deprived.

“Oh - yes, he comes very well-recommended,” she nods, “impeccable curriculum.”

Calanthe hides a self-satisfactory smile behind her glass of wine. “Mousesack speaks very highly of him,” she adds, “he’s only three years his junior but I’m sure he’ll cope _just_ fine.”

George only hums in response, and Jaskier looks at him only to find him already staring. He holds his father’s gaze defiantly and there’s a very awkward silence before Cirilla decides to shake away the tension with a very enthusiastic addition.

“Lazlo says he’s a great tutor!”

“Well,” Jaskier smiles mischievously, “if Lazlo says so, then…”

Ciri kicks him under the table.

“He’s quite properly trained with weaponry,” Yennefer nods, “and in taekwondo, martial arts, and… in something else I really don’t know how to pronounce.”

“Oh, wonderful!” Jaskier exclaims, “I’ve always wanted a power ranger.” 

“Well, I’m sure there’ll be no need for _weaponry_ ,” his mother finally chimes in, slightly leaning back on her seat and tapping at her mouth with the embroidered napkin as their plates get taken away, “he’s a bit over-qualified, don’t you think?” she turns to her husband, and George is about to undoubtedly make a heated remark about Julian’s incompetence and careless personality when Eist beats him to it.

“I say let him settle in first,” his uncle interrupts, putting on a serious face but turning to Jaskier with a wink, “decide if he’s up for the task.” 

Calanthe scoffs next to him.

“Is anyone, ever?” she blurts out, and only seems to realise she’s done so _after_. She brings her glass of wine back to her lips and awkwardly gulps what’s left of it, her cheeks taking on a slightly redder colour. “Two weeks is more than enough of a probationary period, and you can always take in another one if he’s _not”_ she turns her head to send her nephew a pointed look, “up for the task.”

“Well,” Jaskier starts, a voice at the back of his mind strongly advising him to keep his mouth shut and Yennefer next to him conveying a wide range of threats with her murderous glare only, but he continues nonetheless, “Mousesack’s been with you… what? Four, five years? I think I’ll take my chances.”

Eist clears his throat and Cirilla fails at hiding a smile behind her hand.

  
  
“Let’s not forget he left _you_ first, dear” Calanthe retorts, with an impossibly gentle voice that doesn’t go with her hostile demeanour at all.

  
  
“Let’s not forget _why_ ,” Jaskier barks back. 

  
  
“ _Enough!_ ” 

  
  
George slams his hand on the table so hard that the cutlery rattles, Jaskier jumps on his seat and Cirilla keeps her head down as if she’d been the one hinting at her mother’s past escapades.

  
  
“Julian,” his father growls, but Jaskier doesn’t look at him, “you’re _excused_.”

  
  
His chair makes a deafening sound as he slides it back and noisily gets on his feet.

  
  
“Aw, no dessert for _me_?” He mocks with a pout, as he licks clean the mashed potatoes from his fork. He throws it on his plate with a _clank_ that makes his mother jump on her seat and place a hand over the bridge of her nose, “how unfair.”

  
  
He storms out with a mocking grin and goes outside.

Needless to say, he doesn’t come back, (but only because he manages to hide behind the black Chevrolet as Yennefer stands on the steps of the porch and shouts his name fiercely and tries to bribe him with chocolate pudding pie.) 

Cirilla joins him not long after, when he’s seated with his back resting on one of the tires and is playing with his lighter on and off.

  
  
“Happy Monthly Dinner of Doom,” Jaskier says deadpan, keeping his cigarette to the other side but having the wind blow the smoke towards her nonetheless.

“Hm,” Ciri mumbles distractedly, looking around no doubt looking for the absent driver of their Chevy. Jaskier puts out his cigarette with a sigh when she leans on the driver’s door, arms crossed over her chest and frowning like something’s bothering her. 

  
  
“Sorry about that,” he mumbles, because it occurs to him only now that she was seating at that table too, when he accused her mother of fucking an employee. 

“It’s fine,” Ciri shrugs, “I was little.”

  
  
“That’s not the-”

  
  
“And dad didn’t care, so why should I?” she cuts him off.

  
  
Jaskier doesn’t know what to answer to that. He supposes it’s all water under the bridge now - when’s the last time he saw Roegner? When’s the last time _Cirilla_ saw Roegner?

  
  
“Besides, I like Mousesack.”

  
  
“Yeah, me too,” Jaskier blurts out, and promptly panics, “I mean, he was a good- he’s a good- he’s like family.”

  
  
And somehow that only seems to make it worse.

  
  
“I mean he’s not _family_ family, Eist is family!”

  
  
Ciri sends him a funny look and Jaskier bites his tongue.

  
  
_Ugh, shut up._

_  
_  
They stay there for a little longer, just listening to the chirping crickets and enjoying the autumn night air, Jaskier anxiously rubbing his fingers together and itching to continue his nicotine intake. He doesn’t want to rub salt on his own wound though, and he especially doesn’t want to see Calanthe’s shit-eating face again when she comes out to find Ciri’s pristine hair smelling like a barbecue, so he puts his pack of cigarettes back in his pocket and starts bouncing his right leg up and down.

  
  
Ciri breathes out a groan not long after and takes her sandals off, lets out a sigh at the relief of her bare feet touching the cold hard concrete of the driveway.

“So,” she starts, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “I was wondering…”

“Mmm,” Jaskier encourages, fishing out a packet of mints from his pocket and grabbing a couple. She shakes her head at the offer.

“So,” Ciri clears her throat, “like…”

“Yeah?”

“Like, if I wanted to, for example…”

Jaskier is already smiling and he pushes himself on his feet to better witness Cirilla’s flustered attempt at what he knows is asking for dating advice.

Or something of the sort.

She keeps looking around for the golden-haired chauffeur but he’s nowhere to be seen. 

“If I wanted to ask a boy out, how- you’ve done that, right?” she finally asks, tripping over her words and glancing behind again at the sound of Eist’s melodic laughter reaching them over the lawn, “Oh, never mind.”

Jaskier can’t help but keep smiling like the cat that’s got the cream. He watches with the corner of his eye as Calanthe gives Eleanor a hug and Eist fishes out his phone to bring Lazlo out of whatever room he’s been hanging at. He comes strolling out of the kitchen’s staff entry door two minutes later, and Cirilla is still babbling uselessly about how to approach the topic.

“Just tell him to drive you to the cinema or something,” Jaskier provides, “bring an extra shirt. He already follows you everywhere you go, Ciri, it’s not a very difficult setup.”

And his cousin turns at him with a squint that he definitely hadn’t been expecting.

“What?” she asks, with her face still looking every bit puzzled.

Jaskier lowers his voice as he sees Lazlo strolling towards the car and leans closer to her.

“You want to ask Lazlo out?”

“What? No! I meant Dara!”

Jaskier blinks. 

  
  
“Riiiiight, right!” he nods his head, “Dara, of course!” 

Dara… 

Dara…

“…who’s Dara?”

“Ahoy!” Eist exclaims theatrically, finally joining them with one of his customary grins, “if only I were as skilled at escapism as you, dear Juls. Sneaking out to hang out with the youngsters!”

“The youngsters don’t want you hanging out with them,” Cirilla fires back playfully, turning to greet her stepfather as if the previous exchange of words about romantic endeavours had never taken place.

“You look dashingly tonight, by the way,” Eist gives Jaskier’s shoulder an awkward punch and a knowing smile. Calanthe is already on the other side of the car and only offers him one of her nods and a very short muttered ‘good night’ before Lazlo is unlocking the security system and the car’s lights beam up. Ciri climbs up alongside her on the back and Eist winks at him again before disappearing inside too.

Lazlo comes round to get in.

“Nice shirt,” he says as a way of greeting. 

Jaskier lets out a guttural laugh and steps back when the engine roars to life.

  
  
“And you,” he says, like an idiot, “with your…” he waves a hand in the air and Lazlo sends him an amusing smile from the driver’s seat, window already rolled down, “uniform, that you wear every single day.”

Ciri rolls down her window too and wishes him luck tomorrow with a mischievous tug of her lips which completely goes over his head. He’s got bigger fish to fry, now: he stares at the car until it’s out of sight and his walk back to the house is dreadfully slow. He feels like a pig on his way to the slaughterhouse and can sense his mother’s vibrant presence behind the door even before he’s turned the doorknob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, lovely people! Leave a comment below if you liked it (: I live for feedback (three words or less!).  
> Also, come and chat with me on [tumblr](https://smuggsy.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> If you want to know what I picture Jaskier looking like in this chapter, [Andrew Mccarthy in WAB's](https://www.posterswholesale.com/resize/Shared/Images/Product/Weekend-At-Bernie-s/53337.jpg?bw=500&bh=500) was my main source of inspiration... (The guy on the right, but like, probably with an even worse coloured ensemble.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you so much for all the kudos and to those of you who commented and subscribed. I'm glad you're liking it! I'm guessing you'll enjoy this next part (;

Jaskier wakes up to the very annoying wake-up call of one freshly-showered and strawberry-smelling Yennefer. His room gets washed in sunlight as she very noisily works the curtains opened and then very noisily walks back to his bed to tug at the duvet.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," she sings.

Jaskier grunts in response, face still plastered against the pillow and eyes firmly shut closed.

"Up you go, come on!"

"Ughhh, when did you become my mother?" Jaskier grunts, sloppily grabbing his mobile phone from the bedside table and letting out an almost unintelligible curse at the very unholy hour written on the screen, "it's not even eight! What the fuck, Yennefer?!"

He finally looks up to see his father's assistant looking insultingly-stunning on her business attire, just standing at the foot of his bed sporting a very satisfactory smile.

"Your uniform's on the chair, I'll give you thirty minutes to look presentable for breakfast."

"I'm not-"

"Be down, or I'll come and _drag_ you down," she points at him menacingly, and Jaskier thinks she's got no right to be looking so energetic at this unearthly hour. What's more, she's got no right to bust in and interrupt his beauty sleep, especially not when he feels like he only caught two hours of it. "There are introductions to be made."

"Bite me," Jaskier grunts, pulling the pillow over his head and flopping down again. 

Yennefer plugs in his speakers and leaves yesterday's playlist on at a moderate volume before she walks out with another warning.

"Thirty minutes!"

She slams the door and Jaskier jerks up on the bed where he'd been starting to slowly doze off again. He still doesn't get up. He stays in there until the next song starts out, heavy eyelids blocking off the sunlight and thick covers blocking off the cold. He can't sleep to the sound of background rock, though, so he jumps out of bed gracelessly and stumbles into the bathroom.

He's down the stairs with only two minutes to spare, hair still damp and tie hanging loosely from his neck. He meets Eleanor on the kitchen isle, newspaper in one hand, cup of black coffee in the other.

"Good morning, Julian," she greets, the fondness in her voice slightly betraying her cool demeanour.

Jaskier, with his raspy vocal cords still uncooperative, only answers with a moody grunt.

He hears her rather than see her put down the newspaper, and feels her eyes burning a hole in his nape rather than actually see her starring daggers at him.

He turns around with a hand on the fridge and offers her a smile. "Mornin' mom," he says, turning back towards the cartoon of milk and then taking a seat opposite her just when she hops off her place and retrieves her ringing smartphone from the pocket of her jacket. 

"Hello, dear!" she coos, and with a last sip of her coffee she turns around in direction to the back garden, "oh, no, I've just finished, it's no bother," she turns around before disappearing, putting the device to her chest to send him a cautionary look, "behave yourself!" 

Sometimes Jaskier does feel like he's still a teenager.

But then again, he supposes it _is_ his doing.

He's downing his second cup of coffee when he smells Yennefer's strawberry scent again, hears her happy morning voice and the sound of her signature black heels against the marble floor approaching from the living room. 

"Oh, here he is!" 

Jaskier doesn't look up from his group chat.

"Jas," Yennefer calls him, voice still melodic but a slightly menacing undertone to the word.

"Hmm?"

He only snaps his head up when she snatches the phone off his hand - and there's a man in black standing on the threshold.

"Jask- _Julian_ ," Yen starts, motioning at the six-foot-tall blond with the polite smile that Jaskier does a double-take on before choking slightly on his toast, "this is Geralt, he's going to be accompanying you out of the house during your daily schedule of activities."

_God almighty, where do they find these guys? Modelling agencies? Do they just yank them off the runway?_

Geralt nods at him briefly, and his smile gets a little bigger before turning polite again, he looks at him and at Yen, then at him again, and then at Yen, and Jaskier realises he's staring.

"Uhbgh," he blurts out with a cough, and clears his throat and picks up his mug and burns his tongue on his black expresso. 

Yennefer lets out a melodic laugh next to him and pats him on the back.

"You can see he's not an early bird," she provides. Jaskier rolls his eyes and nods in agreement and swallows down painfully.

"Needs must," Geralt says, with the deepest, most masculine voice Jaskier has ever heard, and he can't help out a bit of a whine which he successfully blames on the scalding liquid going down his throat.

"Fuck, that's hot!" is the first thing his offensively good-looking bodyguard hears him say. 

Yennefer's reassuring pats on his back turn into a pinch and Jaskier jumps on his seat.

"Ow!"

He hops off and puts some distance between him and the black witch holding files.

"Pleased-," Jaskier coughs again, breakfast going down the wrong pipe, cheeks burning as much as his oesophagus, "pleased to meet you."

Geralt takes a step forward to shake his hand like he's genuinely surprised to be doing so, and Jaskier wonders what kind of tales he's already been told about his lack of manners and carefree nature. His father would've no doubt filled him in on his many flaws with joy.

He's going to have to live up to it.

"Likewise," Geralt says, hand firmly wrapped around Jaskier's slim fingers, "it's an honour to be working for the prime minister."

At that, Jaskier finally releases his hand and lets out a laugh, seemingly out of his spell.

"Oh _please_ ," he scoffs, giving Yennefer a side-look, "did you rehearse that line? I bet you did."

"Jaskier!" Yennefer finally snaps, "sorry, he's grumpy when he's sleepy."

"Uhh, I'm perfectly awake _now_ , thank you very much," Jaskier retorts, and he turns to Geralt again, whose brow is now slightly furrowed and whose lips are no longer curved into a pleased smile, "if I'd known you were this handsome I wouldn't have made such a fuss about getting a bodyguard."

"Jaskier, that's enough," Yennefer mumbles under her breath.

"You should've shown me a picture, Yen, would've saved you a lot of trouble."

"Thank you, Geralt," the brunette steps in now, with her mellow voice, "we'll come and find you again in a bit."

Geralt only nods again and sends Yennefer a sympathetic look before turning around and disappearing. Jaskier doesn't wait until he's out of sight to let out another noisy laugh.

"He's not very talkative, is he?"

"Oh, my god," Yen turns around, genuinely annoyed now, pressing a couple of fingers to her temple, "that was _unbelievably_ inappropriate, Alfred."

Jaskier lets out a very theatrical gasp.

"You take that back!"

"I'm _this_ close to stepping away," 

"You know we don't use the 'A' word in this house!"

"...and just letting you screw over on your own. I am _exhausted_. You're a _childish_ pain in my ass!"

Eleanor walks back in from the garden and halts, mouth agape and eyebrows high on her forehead. Jaskier bites down on his upper lip and throws a guilty side glance at Yen, standing there like a life statue and looking every bit pale.

"Well, you speak for us all," his mother says at last, after a good ten seconds of crushing silence, striding in with her usual air of seriousness. Yennefer lets out the air she'd been holding.

"Sorry, Mrs Pankratz-"

"It's Eleanor, my dear," his mother sings, "and don't think twice about it. I think I'll have a word with George about clearing up your schedule a bit, shall I?"

"Oh, I- no, it's-"

"We can do without you for a day or two, Yennefer, and you need a very much deserved break."

"Damn right, dad's been squishing her out like an orange," Jaskier mutters, but his mother only directs his icy-cold glare at him, "what? It's not _you_ she takes it out on when she's stressed out."

"What have you done now?"

Eleanor walks to him, tucks her smartphone under her arm and brings her hands to his scruffy tie.

"Nothing! Oh, _leave_ it mom-" she bats his hands away and starts undoing the sloppy noose.

"I _won't_ leave it."

Jaskier rolls his eyes helplessly and stays still as his mother skilfully fixes his uniform. 

"There," she pats him on the chest, "you've met Geralt, have you?"

Jaskier opens his mouth but Yennefer beats him to it.

"Yes," she short of exclaims, "he was just here."

_So much for letting me screw over_ , Jaskier thinks with a smile.

"Wonderful, how do you like him?"

Jaskier sends a mischievous look to Yen, who shakes her head in disapproval as if she can hear his every thought.

_How do I like him? Well, with his pants down? Maybe fucking me into oblivion against a wall, with that blond hair let loose and that firm grip around my cock?_

_Now how's_ that _for inappropriate?_

_Fuck._

_Maybe stop thinking about cocks when you're in front of your mother._

"I _don't_ like him," Jaskier says instead, shifting in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable, "and I suppose it'll change nothing to tell you just _one_ more time, that this is a very stupid idea and that I don't need one of those clones following me around?"

"You'd be wasting your breath," Eleanor nods, "this is not up for discussion Julian, get used to it."

"Was it ever?" he grunts, taking his mug to the sink and hearing his mother's ringtone going off one more time, followed by a very exasperated noise.

"Oh, what is it that they don't understand?!" Eleanor exclaims.

"The printing company?" 

"It's the third time they've called this week, and I've only repeated myself every time."

"You want me to take care of it?" Yennefer offers, Jaskier turns around and sneaks out of the kitchen while he's got the chance.

He grabs his bag from his room and washes his teeth and stops at the end of the stairs only ten minutes later to check Yennefer's not around. He can hear her voice coming from the studio so he makes a run for the front door and steps outside into the cool morning air. 

He has a look around and sees Geralt having a chat with Robert next to the gates.

_Shit._

Well.

He can give it a try?

He swings his backpack on, stops by the shed to get his bike and quickly pedals his way towards the entrance. Geralt turns around with the slightest of scowls as he comes to a stop.

"Morning, Rob!" Jaskier gleefully greets.

"Good morning, sir."

"Ah! Geralt!" Jaskier turns his attention to him now, straightening up on his seat, "I'm off, you can follow me on the Chevy."

The blond takes a cautionary step forward now, as if he's afraid Jaskier will suddenly rush out of his sight, materialise himself to the other side of the closed iron gates.

"I don't think that's right," he frowns, and shoots a glance at the house behind them.

"No, no," Jaskier shakes his head, voice going up almost an octave, "I cycle to classes, did nobody tell you?"

"My instructions are to drive you-"

"Yen must have forgotten. Don't worry, I'll wait for you to bring the car around," he fishes out his phone from his pocket and shows the alluring Geralt a polite smile. 

His bodyguard doesn't move an inch.

He just stays there, poker-faced, impassive.

"Well, chop-chop!" Jaskier exclaims, "I'm going to be late if you don't hurry."

Geralt finally makes a sound, a guttural sound. He sounds displeased, and Jaskier looks up from the screen of his phone to see him pursing his lips and coming a bit closer. An imposing figure looming over him.

"I'm sure your father's assistant will be more than happy to clear up this misunderstanding."

"There isn't any misunderstanding, dear," Jaskier finds himself answering, gritted teeth and patience thin. God, he sounds like his mother. "But, by any means do ring her up. She'll definitely be thrilled to double-check your orders on your first day, I don't think she's busy enough already."

Something flashes in Geralt's eyes at the pet-name. Jaskier holds his gaze defiantly, wrecking his brains for any back-up argument he can throw at him but finding none. He can't think straight with those hazel eyes fixed on him.

"He did warn me about this," Geralt finally says, and Jaskier knows he's lost the fight by the confident smile on the employee's face, "I believe his words were, 'he's a bit of a brat', and that I shouldn't take it personally."

Jaskier makes a face that successfully hides the effect that response elicits in him.

"He actually used that word, _brat?"_ he jokes, "well, dad's losing his touch."

Geralt's expression shifts and he's about to say something else but gets interrupted by Yennefer's voice getting louder and louder as she quickly makes her way towards them.

"I almost forgot!" she exclaims, placing a black-cased phone on Jaskier's free hand as he gets off the bike with a resigned sigh, "that's for emergencies. Geralt's on speed dial, I'm number two."

Jaskier only hums in response.

"For _emergencies_ , do you hear me?" 

" _Yesss_ , I'm not fucking deaf," he barks back, and now Yennefer is the one letting out a sigh. She sends an apologetic look to Geralt and grabs hold of the bike.

"Right, I'll be taking this."

"It's not like someone's trying to fucking murder me," Jaskier mumbles. He doesn't even look at Geralt as he turns around and puts his headphones on, carelessly throwing the mobile inside his backpack. 

He plays his music loud and stares out of the window as he's driven to university, brilliantly ignoring his bodyguard's presence on the front side of the vehicle. He only takes his headphones off when he goes to open the door to get out and it's still locked.

Geralt turns sideways on the driver's seat and waits a couple of seconds as Jaskier glares at him. Like he's enjoying having the upper hand, the bastard.

"I'll be out here to drive you back," he says, resolute, and it almost sounds like a warning, an order, "or if you need anything."

"And they fucking pay you for that?" Jaskier barks, storming his way out of his seat and slamming the door closed behind him, "twat."

* * *

His first three-hour lecture almost makes him forget about Geralt parked outside altogether. Engrossed in his teacher's analysis of last week's essays he barely remembers he's been assigned a babysitter - when he goes to put his notes back in his bag and catches sight of that dreadful phone Yennefer gave him he can only let out a suffering groan.

  
He drops on his seat next to Renfri at the cafeteria during a free period and waits for her to wave her girlfriends goodbye and turn to him before he starts spilling out the beans.

"Wouldn't have surprised me if he'd walked me to the entrance," he bites out, rubbing a hand over his face, feeling his morning caffeine intake fading away with every passing minute.

"It's only a precaution, Jas."

"No, it's fucking not. He knew it'd rile me up," he explains, fiercely, because Renfri is usually right on her guesses but this time she's giving his father too much credit, "he doesn't even know if he's going to be elected again, he needs to get off his high horse."

"He's still running a campaign, and people are pretty passionate about their beliefs."

"Yeah..." Jaskier agrees noncommittally, leaning down on his seat with a sketchbook on his lap, "I can't wait for this shitshow to be over."

Renfri stays with him for another half hour, leant over her opened Spanish workbooks and catching up with a couple of missed lessons. She stands up at some point and returns with two coffees and a bag of crisps that Jaskier frowns at.

They're ham flavoured.

She's a vegan.

"It must be awfully boring to just sit in a car all day," she starts, leaning against their table and taking a sip of her almond-milk cappuccino, turning her head towards the windows overlooking the front street, "why don't you head down and make your peace?"

Jaskier snorts.

"Make my peace," he repeats, disbelieving, and throws her an amusing smile only to see her return it with a disapproving purse of her lips, "oh, I'm sorry, that wasn't a joke?" 

Renfri shrugs and takes a look at her phone before starting to pack up.

"It's a whole month before elections, you may as well pretend you like the guy?"

"I may as well _not_."

"Suit yourself."

"And he's going to be off in two weeks, he's only trying out."

Renfri swings her bag over her shoulder and laughs at him as she rounds the table. 

"You're going to pester him until he quits, is that it?"

"Maybe."

"Like you did with that other guy?"

Jaskier pushes his pencil so hard against the paper that the graphite at the end snaps, leaving a dark spot among the grey coloured figure of a labrador. 

"What was his name again?"

He clears his throat and closes his sketchbook.

"Mousesack wasn't _my_ bodyguard," he provides with a clenched jaw, "and I didn't _pester_ him."

"But you _were_ quite whiny," Renfri says mockingly, scrunching up her nose and laughing out loud at his reaction: he throws the bag of crisps at her, "catch you later, whiny baby."

"Fuck you."

With thirty more minutes to spare himself and definitely unable to zone out and focus on his doodling activity for any longer, Jaskier heads outside for a smoke. He gifts the bag of chips to the first student he walks past.

English Literature is never-ending. Linguistics is a bit more lively. By the time he's off the sky is a menacing dark-grey colour and that morning's wind has only picked up strength. The black Chevrolet is right where he left it. _Geralt_ is right where he left him.

"Welcome back," his bodyguard greets, hand going up to adjust his rearview mirror as Jaskier only answers with a grunt and tries to comb his hair back into normality. He fishes his phone out and can't help a yawn as he makes himself comfortable on the back seat, ready to thoroughly ignore the blond's presence for another twenty minutes as they ride back to the house.

But the car doesn't start up.

"Julian?" Geralt's voice comes from the front, sounding quite the opposite of disturbed, and Jaskier thinks _no, we can't have that._

"What?" he barks back, finally looking up to find Geralt side-turned again on the driver's seat and eyeing him up and down.

"Would you mind putting on your seatbelt?"

_You may as well pretend you like the guy._

He puts it on.

Geralt doesn't thank him. He turns back to the front and starts the engine.

_You're going to pester him until he quits?_

Jaskier only waits a couple of blocks before lightning up another cigarette. Geralt doesn't comment on it. Doesn't comment on the quite annoying cloud of smoke gathering inside - he only rolls down the window to his left a couple of inches so that it will slowly go away.

It makes Jaskier's blood boil.

"How were your classes, today?"

Jaskier's fingers suddenly stop typing fiercely on the screen and his breath gets caught in his throat.

He doesn't remember the last time somebody asked him that.

Well, Yennefer does, every now and then when she's not drowning in assignments. But Yennefer doesn't count.

He clears his throat. "Like every other day," is what he answers back, and he puts his headphones on one more time to drown out any other kind attempts at conversation that he might not be able to successfully dodge. 


	3. Chapter 3

Jaskier can hear the sound of hurried footsteps back and forth outside in the corridor, more so now than an hour ago, so he stays seated at his desk with a couple of books splayed opened and his notebook on a sketching page which he immediately turns when he hears his door finally open and the voice of Eleanor announcing their departure.

"We'll be back early noon," his mother announces, and Jaskier turns around with a tired face and runs his fingers over his eyelids.

"Alright," he stands up but Eleanor quickly makes her way over, her red high-heels clanking on the floor.

"Yennefer's made arrangements, she's insisted we stay for the charity event. Will you stay in?" she asks, for the fourth time that day, as if she's reassuring herself of it, and plants her equally-red lips over his left cheek. 

"Mom, it's a weekday," Jaskier rolls his eyes and takes a step back to motion at his baggy pants and over-sized sweater, "I've got a test tomorrow and I look like a tramp."

His mother tuts and shakes her head at the sight of him. Dishevelled hair, black bags under his eyes, shoulders slumping down dramatically.

"Have an early night," she turns around to get back outside and stops at the door, "you've done enough studying already. Yennefer's on your speed dial, isn't she? And Geralt?"

"Mom..."

"You'll call her if anything happens, won't you? Oh! Also, Eist isn't going over, so if anything happens just ring-"

"Mom!" Jaskier snaps, "nothing's happening. I'm going to bed in an hour."

It is possibly the most out-of-character line he's blurted out in his lifetime. The fact that his mother shows him a fond smile and doesn't press the matter almost makes him feel offended. 

"Have fun," he says, one of his hands coming to rest over a very fake and loud-sounding yawn, and he turns around and drags his feet back towards the opened books and printed-out flashcards.

He stays quiet for a little bit longer after the door is shut closed again and only stands up from his chair when he hears the car's engine roaring to life outside his window, down in the driveway.

When he sees it finally disappear through the gates he can almost feel a week's worth of stress rolling off of him with every minute that goes by.

Alone.

At _fucking_ last.

He has a quick shower first, mostly to get his pitiful hair under control and to try and dissipate some of the soreness in his right shoulder.

Which is sore in the first place because with as much skill as a duck trying to climb a pipe, he'd tried to sneak out of his room after dark last Tuesday, Hollywood film-like, only to be caught in the act by the Man In Black himself. In hindsight, Geralt had finally made himself useful in something rather than pacing outside whatever building Jaskier happened to be in, checking entrances and driving a car, so he should be grateful he'd added a bit of spice to that monotonous routine of his.

"I can't go back up, it'll snap!" 

Jaskier had stared down pitifully at his guitar lying far down on the grass - the bloody thing had given him away. Then again, he should've been less cocky and swung the collar around his neck instead of blindly trusting his non-existent ability at wall-climbing.

Or. 

Well.

Wall-descending.

He'd ended up dangling from the stupid makeshift rope after it'd started giving under his weight and there'd been nothing to set his foot on. 

He'd seen Geralt mouth an obscenity which he hadn't heard, and he'd turned around to his left and right, making sure no-one was actually witnessing the scene as if it'd been _him_ the one getting caught climbing out of a window, trying to make it past surveillance again _like a spoiled child_. 

"Let go, I'll try to catch you."

"What'd you mean you'll _try_ to catch me?!" Jaskier had shortly panicked.

When he'd looked back down from the untrustworthy bedsheet swing he'd been using Rapunzel-style, Geralt was standing right below, arms outstretched and ready to intercept him before he hit the floor.

Jaskier was still at second-floor height.

"Shit," he mumbled to himself, looking up and weighing his chances. Going back up and risking falling from an even higher altitude, or letting go and trusting Mr Tall Right and Handsome back there to play the cushion part.

The fabric had given out before he'd made up his mind. Geralt had indeed got the worst of it, if those grunts had been anything to go by. Jaskier had stayed still atop him, barely registering anything else that wasn't the possible sound of a nearby window or door being pulled opened to reveal either of his progenitors. Ready with legal documents in hand to cross his name off the family tree and legacy leaving him penniless.

Then Geralt had started moving underneath and only then had Jaskier's brain kicked up - he'd jumped off, trying not to look as mortified by the whole ordeal as he felt.

"Oh my," he'd blurted out, turning around and kneeling beside his still-lying-on-the-floor-and-grunting-painfully bodyguard, "are you - did you break something? Oh _shit_ \- fuck, sorry!"

Jaskier had helped him up with trembling hands, and Geralt had taken a minute to straighten up his uniform and after that, he'd stared him down with the biggest frown to date. It was pretty similar to the one he'd given him that other day when he'd hidden behind Renfri's umbrella to try and unsuccessfully dodge him on the way out of the campus. (In fairness, that had worked out a little better - they'd at least managed to finish their drinks before Geralt had shown up, stomped angrily towards their table with dripping wet hair, and grunted unhappily in lieu of a greeting.)

He hadn't even managed to make it out of his sight this time. 

He'd only managed to sprain him something.

Probably.

He'd been limping the day after.

"You are a _nightmare_ ," Geralt had grunted as Jaskier had nervously eyed him up and down in search for any bleeding skin. 

Geralt isn't here now to intercept his escape, though. He needn't even try and climb out of his window like some rebellious princess today - only climb over the back garden wall and avoid the cameras. There's no one home but him and good ol' Ricky back at the entrance security post, and he's probably dozing off anyway, seeing as he's almost seventy.

Piece of cake.

He feels a bit out of shape after doing without his cycling routine for half a week but he manages to make it over the fence without a scratch. Renfri's already smiling at him before he joins her two blocks later. 

"Stop being so happy," she scowls at him, "it's weird."

Jaskier bumps into her playfully.

"Shut up," he snatches the cigarette off her lips and she makes an exasperated sound in response, "notice the lack of bodyguard around me?"

"I was kind of hoping he'll come along," Renfri shrugs, Jaskier sends her a disgruntled look, "despite him pointedly avoiding my every attempt at flirting."

Jaskier coughs out the smoke.

"Give up," he tells her, "the guy's the most boring, workaholic, stiff mute I've ever seen."

"Yeah, but he's a _sexy_ mute."

"Yen and I have a bet on, he looks like he hasn't been laid in a month."

It's Renfri who sends him a disgruntled look now, bordering on judgemental. "I highly doubt that," she pulls her hoodie over her head at the sudden burst of wind and moves closer to him.

"By Yen and I of course I mean she ignores me every time I bring it up," Jaskier returns the cigarette and brings a hand around her shoulders to keep her close. 

Renfri lets out a laugh that echoes through the empty dark and unpopulated street. 

"How's your arm?"

Jaskier moves his left shoulder and swings his hand in the air and gives her the thumbs up.

"Dance-ready."

* * *

The electronic pop music blasts off the walls and makes his whole body vibrate to the tune, the only possible way of making it to the drinks bar is by biding his own time or by otherwise pushing everyone in his way and possibly getting a few drinks for free dripped down his pants.

Jaskier is in no hurry whatsoever, and he actually quite enjoys having to push his way through, getting those annoyingly bright neon lights right in his face and going temporarily blind. Tripping over his feet by colliding with heated couples snogging in the dancefloor.

He's in his element.

And he _also_ wants to find somebody to snog.

"Just get me something strong!" he shouts to Renfri when she lets go of his hand to push through. He's not sure she even hears him.

He's not sure she even needs instructions for that.

He stays behind in favour of returning a smile to a very enthusiastic curly-haired tattoed guy and that's where Renfri joins him five minutes later with two blue-coloured shots.

"This is Jonathan!" he shouts right in her ear, motioning to his catch with one of the already empty glasses.

He sees Renfri introduce herself but doesn't hear her over the speakers playing some loud tune that drills his brain cells.

"That was quick!" is the last thing she says before Jaskier loses sight of her. Or she leaves. Or somebody snatches her. That girl with the afro and yellow top, Jaskier thinks. He's not sure. 

He's quite shitfaced by the first hour and that's probably a record. Beautiful Jonathan seems to only get closer and closer by the minute and Jaskier hasn't been laid in what feels like forever, so he lets him get handy.

"Meet me in the toilets in five?!" Jonathan asks somewhere in between the eleventh and twelfth drink. 

Well, he doesn't _ask_.

And Jaskier can only smile at him like an idiot and nod because by midnight all manners of words are failing him. 

He goes and gets two silver bullets to pass the time, he makes it to the bathroom ten minutes late and with half the liquid he set off with, after a particularly enthusiastic blonde stops him in his tracks and intends to lure him back into the sea of people, telling him he's got _the most beautiful blue eyes she's ever seen._

His eyes are green but Jaskier shows her the biggest smile and means to return the compliment when she turns around and seems to puke her insides out right next to him.

It's certainly a very foreshadowing image.

Except he hasn't got four girlfriends to surround him and rub his back and tell him that _sweetie, oh sweetie, come on up._

Well, he's got Renfri.

He has a look around as he stands in the queue. He's become quite good at picking her out in the crowd.

Maybe he _doesn't_ have Renfri.

He shoots a look at the glasses in each hand and only hesitates for a moment. One more is hardly going to make a difference and he can still walk in a straight line without swaying.

He's fine.

He doesn't need a chaperone.

Renfri's not here to bloody walk him home like Geralt.

If Geralt _were_ here he'd surely be frowning so hard it would give _Jaskier_ a headache. Music: too loud. People: too many. Exits: small and crowded. Definitely not his bodyguard's prefered environment. 

If Geralt were here that blonde back there wouldn't have spared him a second glance, she would've thrown herself all over his personal security employee like a thirsty cat.

In all fairness, Jaskier's sure if he'd met Geralt in any other circumstances rather than by his father's insistence he would've tried his luck as well. 

But he hadn't.

And he shouldn't be thinking about Geralt on the one night he gets rid of him either, that's just bound to rile him up.

He shakes his head and downs his drink as he walks into the dim-lit bathroom, the walls are black and the cubicles are painted neon. Jonathan grabs hold of his hand and pulls him into one.

"Hello, there," he says, and Jaskier only answers with one of his drunk laughs, "that for me?"

"Yup."

The empty glasses are left on top of the closed lid of the toilet soon enough. 

"How can I repay you?"

Along with their clothes.

Or part of their clothes, anyway. 

"I can think of a way or two," Jaskier gasps away, as Jonathan's already biting down on his neck. 

His pants only go as far as his knees and _Johnny_ doesn't even take off his jacket. There's a speaker set up somewhere in the ceiling which Jaskier is sure is there to serve the one and only purpose of drowning out the sound of people being pounded against cubicle doors. 

It's the first time he gets fucked to the sound of k-pop.

* * *

Next morning he regrets his escapade _only_ a little bit, when he wakes up at about seven and feels like someone is stabbing him in the head on his way to the bathroom to throw up last night's chocolate pudding. 

All his stomach can handle is black coffee so that's the only thing he has, lying on the sofa like a sick dog and ignoring the little voice in his mind that warns him against getting the tapestry stained.

He stays there until his alarm goes off, and very much against his body's very own wishes, he swings his backpack on his back and leaves the house. Leaves his tie there as well. Unintentionally.

"Want me to go get it?" Geralt asks, politely as if he hasn't been sending him looks of disapproval since he saw him approaching like a zombie from The Walking Dead. The back door of the car is already opened by the time Jaskier gets to it.

"Ugh, no," Jaskier grunts, "it's fine, sjust a tie."

And if he gets in today and puts on his seatbelt first thing, it's only so that it'll prevent him from swaying too much on his seat.

Geralt slams his own door a little bit too harshly when getting in and drives out of the house in an uncharacteristically speedy manner. Jaskier lets out another groan and regrets having got out of bed at all that morning.

"Had a good night?" is the first thing Geralt says, about two minutes after they've left the neighbourhood behind and Jaskier is running a hand over his eyes.

"Hmm."

He makes a quick turn and Jaskier makes a face.

"Did you get any sleep?"

Jaskier bites his tongue and doesn't answer. He can't put his headphones on today and Geralt is very aware of that, tries to make the most of it. He _knows_ they won't make it before the light changes, he _knows_ it's going to turn yellow and there's even _a van_ ahead of them. He still speeds up. Only to bring the car to a sudden halt.

"I thought you had a test today," his bodyguard provides, eyes forward and voice unusually clear and loud. 

"You're such a prick," Jaskier finds himself mumbling. 

There's another sharp turn that has him taking a deep breath and bracing himself against the window.

"What's that?"

"Listen, I'm sorry that I jumped on you from my bedroom window, can you slow down?!"

"You could've let me know you were going out."

Jaskier blinks.

And laughs.

A proper, genuine laugh.

"Pardon?"

"Wouldn't have hurt to keep me informed of your whereabouts."

" _Oh for fuck-_ get a hobby mate."

Geralt lets out the first grunt of that day.

"I simply like to do my job."

"It's a _day_ job."

"I'm sure your parents would not-"

" _Look_ ," Jaskier unclips the seatbelt and leans in towards the driver seat despite the banging in his head and strong nausea threatening to overwhelm him, "your shift ends at _eight_. What I do beyond that time is none of your fucking concern, alright?"

"Something could've happened to you," is what Geralt answers, like Jaskier's a four-year-old.

"Something _did_ happen to me. I got shitfaced and fucked right next to a toilet!" he exclaims, dramatically, "you should try that. Really looks like you need a wind-down."

And with that he slumps back down on his seat, with a much less endurable headache than a minute before.

"Unbelievable," Jaskier mumbles under his breath. 

Why is everyone under the impression that he's a complete and utter idiot? 

"I'm just saying,"

"Oh my god, let it _goooo_ ," Jaskier groans. 

Geralt ignores him.

As Geralt does.

"I'm _just_ saying," he pushes on, as he brings the car to a stop in front of the campus, "it's in everyone's best interest to know that you're out at night when there's nobody home to check up on you. And Yennefer was out of town as well, whether you like it or not I'm still responsible for-"

"Ugh, _stop_ , Geralt," Jaskier asks, and he tries to open the door to find it still locked, unsurprisingly. That's when he bursts. "Everyone's best interests?! I told my mom about me passing that bloody test last week, I told her _to her face!_ " he lets out a disheartened laugh. "I reckon I can use that alibi one more time and she'd be none the wiser because she just doesn't fucking listen to me! So don't fucking _talk_ about everyone's _best interests_ like you know _shit_. You're just the guy who drives the _fucking_ car."

Geralt, now side-turned and with a hand still resting atop the steering-wheel, opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of the water. He stares him down as Jaskier pants and swallows, looking every bit murderous. 

"Let me out," Jaskier barks, holding his gaze.

Geralt only takes a deep breath in and clenches his jaw. Probably preventing himself from insulting him, Jaskier thinks. That wouldn't reflect too nicely on his professional image.

Not that Jaskier would go telling. 

Not that his father would care. He'd probably give him a raise. 

"Stick to your job," Jaskier continues, because he's got a massive hangover and daddy issues and is sick of politics and meddling bodyguards, "keep your eyes on the entrance and your ass on the seat. That's what we're paying you for."

Now _that_ does it. 

Condescension. 

Any other day he would've relished in his bodyguard's facial expression of I-want-to-strangle-you-with-my-bare-hands. Today, however...

The security latch of the door clicks open.

Jaskier shows a toothy smile.

"Good boy."

* * *

His cockiness is short-lived. Not only does he get thrown out of two consecutive lessons for looking faint and disrupting his classmates' attention as if hangovers were contagious, but he also spends good part of his breaks with his face inside a bucket provided by the kitchen staff and gulping down bottled water. The first prefect to stumble into the place takes one look at him and sends him home.

"Why even bother coming in, Pankratz?" 

"I was fine this morning, sir," he lies, standing up and failing to keep himself straight. 

It's too bright, it's too sunny outside, and that sunny is fully creeping in through curtainless windows.

"Don't 'sir' me, I'm only two years your senior," the prefect says, scrunching up his nose, "you don't need me to call you a cab, do you?"

Jaskier wishes he could say yes.

"No," he almost wails, "thanks."

And getting kicked out on account of his retching inside a bucket that didn't even get used is not the worst of it. Crossing paths with a few known faces on his way out is not the worst of it. The side looks are the least of his concerns. No, what really makes the icing of the cake that day is his phone going off in his pocket when he's halfway to the car and can see Geralt inside still unaware of his pitiful walk of shame. 

That's what really makes the black coffee he had earlier finally come up. Five texts. A link. A bunch of photos. The word 'Johnny' flashing up above them. 

> _i thought i recognized your face from something lol_
> 
> ** ff.news.com/prime-minister-and-family-attend-opening-gala-ni... **
> 
> _sorry, dont rlly keep up with politics_
> 
> _these must be worth sth tho?_
> 
> [photos: 4+]

It's the bright neon pink colour that downs on him first. He sees that before he recognises himself, shirt halfway buttoned up already, Jonathan's face blurred up as he passes him a small bag of what is unmistakedly cocaine.

_"C'mon, just a little bit. It's the good stuff."_

And it's unmistakedly cocaine, because he's snoring it on photo number six.

There's a picture that fully captures his face under those shitty low-light lamps, it's taken from the side and Jaskier feels a cold sweat starting to break off on his forehead. He puts the phone back in his pocket barely registering his trembling hands and runs over to the closest plant pot to throw up for the second time that day.

He almost feels his organs turn around inside his stomach.

He's still retching when Geralt squats next to him.

Or well, he thinks he's retching. 

He's actually hyperventilating.

Geralt is calling him.

"Julian, talk to me," his bodyguard places both hands on his neck and turns his head towards him to examine his face. 

_He's just joking_ , Jaskier wants to say, but he can't speak, _why would he do that, he looked like a good guy, my father's going to kill me, oh, the campaign! He's going to blame me, they'll kick me out for good, oh god, he's not going to get elected, oh god, oh god-_ "Jaskier!"

He blinks up.

Geralt has a quick look around and brings him to his feet.

Jaskier takes a little bit more air in when he's up, Geralt works on not letting him trip over on his way to the car.

"I'm fucked, oh I'm- fuck-"

At that, Geralt's face muscles seem to relax, understanding that there's seemingly no imminent danger. That nobody's secretly poisoned him on the corridors. 

_What if he's already sold them to someone._

_No, no, he wouldn't have. I would've known. Everybody would know._ Everybody _would know - but he sent me the photos, why would he send me the photos-_

"I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong," Geralt is saying, but Jaskier isn't listening. 

He still can't talk in very long sentences.

"I was- was last night-"

_Extortion._

_That is fucking illegal!_

_(Like taking-drugs-illegal?)_

"Yes," Geralt nods, calmly, not letting his eyes off him, keeping a strong arm on his shoulder to ground him. Jaskier thinks _you can't help me, you're just a bodyguard, I'm so fucked._

"Took some, he gave me-"

"Who is 'he'? What did you take?"

Geralt does a double-take on him again. Jaskier shakes his head and gives up.

He takes the phone out of his pocket and unlocks it on the third try. He hands it over.

"Shit," Geralt curses. Jaskier looks at him biting his lip anxiously and lets out a very pathetic sound.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've taken care of a few glitches on the previous chapters which I think I'd better make clear now lol because I was mixing up different government dynamics, you know, seeing as I have little clue bc I don't live there. This is set in the UK, so basically no presidents, no first ladies, and uh, I'll try and be consistent in that matter from now on even if I have to go and read an endless wikipedia page about it. Apologies! 
> 
> Without any further ado, here's chapter number four (:

Beyond the dreadful knowledge that this is _definitely_ one of the biggest fuck-ups of his life so far, closely followed by his drunken step out of the closet four years ago at Christmas, the only thing Jaskier feels is a head-splitting headache and the disgustingly sour taste of vomit in his mouth. 

He lies splayed on the backseat with his head against the cold window and only mutters a guttural sound when Geralt instructs him to stay there as he swiftly pulls up in front of a drug store to get some aspirins. Like he's going _anywhere_ in this state. 

He'd rather chug down a few sleeping pills instead and knock himself out for the whole duration of this fiasco but that's bound to have even worse consequences, he reckons. And probably some side effects.

Accidental death being one of them. Possibly his mother being hospitalized. Yennefer going hysterical over his funeral arrangements only one and a half week away from elections. 

Perhaps a short trip away would do the trick. Holiday cottage?

No. That's public knowledge, reporters would still find him there. 

Maybe a one-way ticket to Spain. He'll take Renfri, she speaks the language. They'll drop out of uni and get a nice little flat, why can't they? It's doable. He's got enough money left from summer gigs to survive for a week or two, and then they'll play on the streets and make do with whatever people toss at them. 

Jaskier squints his eyes open only when Geralt settles back down in his seat and turns to hand him his change and a bottle of still water along with a tablet. 

"Thank you," he provides, weakly. There's a knot in his throat and his eyes itch, so he just grabs both and swallows down a pill without looking his bodyguard in the eye, feeling all sorts of guilty because Geralt is no longer turning sharply in the corners or slamming on the breaks at red lights. 

Jaskier feels like he should say something but doesn't know where to start. 

_Sorry I'm a twat._

_Sorry for shouting at you earlier. And the other day. And the day before that, probably._

_Oh and sorry for giving you a limping leg for two days - you could've got a fully-paid day off for that but you kept your mouth shut and saved my skin. You always keep your mouth shut._

He clears his throat and locks eyes with Geralt on the rearview mirror and opens his mouth to ask him _why_ but nothing comes out. He looks away again and bites down on his lip.

No. Better not to. 

Better to keep it professional, avoid any misunderstandings. He's had enough of getting personal already and he's not going to trip over the same stone twice. 

Besides, Geralthas only been on the post for five days and definitely doesn't owe _him_ any loyalty when all Jaskier's done is talk down to the man. He's just an employee, after all. 

_You're just the guy who drives the fucking car._

Jaskier glances at his bodyguard's hands-free phone device around his ear and his stomach does that thing again and his hands start getting clammy. He reaches over to his backpack and fishes his packet of cigarettes from an inside pocket, his right leg starting to anxiously bounce up and down the very first moment he lights it up.

He needs to acknowledge the facts, and the facts are it's rather suspicious that Geralt hasn't spoken to anyone about him repeatedly trying to dodge him after classes and altogether dismissing his presence whenever they're out of the house. Hasn't told anyone that Jaskier purposefully tries to keep out of his sight and demands that he stay in the car and lay low because he's not a _bloody celebrity_ to be followed around. 

Maybe Geralt _hasn't_ kept his mouth shut. Maybe not before, maybe not _now_. Maybe his father's just biding his time.

Unlikely.

It isn't like George to miss out on an opportunity to tell everyone how deeply disappointed he is by Jaskier's life choices.

Speaking of which...

He turns his head to stare at his own phone resting on top of the bag. It hasn't gone off again and he definitely has no intention whatsoever to even touch the retched thing. He's afraid messages will start popping up if he unlocks it. 

An infinite number of missed calls from Yennefer. Some online magazine article about Julian Pankratz son of the Prime Minister being a junkie shared all over social media. Numbers in favour of his father's party plummeting considerably. An inescapable public statement where he'll have to excuse himself and apologize to the nation for being such a stupid, reckless, fucking id- " _Julian_."

Jaskier blinks up and realises the car is no longer moving. Geralt is side-turned to talk to him again and his typical frown doesn't seem to look so incriminatory. 

"Listen to me. There's no need to get ahead of yourself."

Jaskier wants to laugh at that but what comes out is a sniff and something that sounds like a whine, he slightly brings his window down to blow out the smoke. He can do that much for Geralt, today.

"You don't just simply blackmail someone and risk getting prosecuted, it's not that easy," Geralt shows him what's supposed to be a comforting smile, "and you _especially_ don't go threatening the Prime Minister's son without some backlash coming your way," he adds, a hint of amusement in the remark, "so, unless thisJohnny is a high-profile criminal, it's very unlikely that those photos will see the light of day at all."

Jaskier sits up despite the unbearable sensation of dizziness taking over him.

"That sounds reasonable..." he mumbles, rubbing the sleeve of his uniform jacket over his slightly wet eyelashes. 

" _And_ ," Geralt continues, nodding shortly towards his bag, "I don't think that counts as blackmail just yet. Which is as beneficial for us as it is for him, come on."

And he exits the car at that, leaving Jaskier to mimic one of his frowns, turn his head back towards the window and realise they're at none other than his aunt's place. 

"Did we run out of fuel?" Jaskier asks once Geralt has turned around and opened his door, "you're making me walk ten blocks like this?"

Geralt's expression doesn't shift. 

Jaskier sighs and steps out.

"You don't have to open the door for me, Geralt."

"You're welcome."

"Why are we here?"

Jaskier steps on what's left of his cigarette and brings a hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight. It makes his head throb. 

If Geralt thinks he's going to walk into that house and announce to everyone that some fucking hipster played him like an idiot then his bodyguard is very wrong. His aunt would no doubt relish in his misery.

He's willing to endure someone drilling a screwdriver into his skull if it means avoiding Calanthe's judgemental sneering. She _is_ his father's sister, after all, and the Pankratz aren't known for their amenable tempers. Which is why they don't get along in the first place.

But then again, Jaskier supposes that's a story Geralt isn't privy to. Nor is he aware of the fact that Jaskier can't, and will _not_ , risk running into Mousesack. 

"Your uncle is a lawyer, is he not?"

_Uncle?_

"We might get this sorted out before anyone's back. Sweep it under the rug, so to speak."

_Oh fuck, of course!_

"They're at the charity event too!" Jaskier blurts out, feeling very stupid all of a sudden, and Geralt tilts his head and gives him a strange look, "ugh, of course they are."

_Of course she is._ His aunt might be bitter her brother's made it so successfully into politics but she's certainly never had any trouble clinging to George whenever she's seen it fit. 

Only _Eist_ is home. No Mousesack. No Calanthe.

And what time is it, again? 

No Ciri.

Jaskier can't refrain from asking now, as Geralt follows him over the lawn and gives a short nod to the guy sitting inside the security post like they know each other. The man merely returns the gesture with a wave of his hand and doesn't rise from his seat inside the cabin.

"Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?"

He vaguely remembers his cousin saying something about Geralt training Lazlo and understands the dull interest from the guard at the entrance. 

"It's my job."

"No, it isn't. This isn't in your job description," Jaskier shakes his head and regrets it almost immediately, almost tripping over his own feet at the head-splitting pain that takes over his skull.

"You don't know what's in my job description," Geralt provides, smiling smugly and bringing a hand to hover near Julian's back at the near-fall. 

"Pretty sure some dickhead with a couple of compromising photos isn't on your list of potential threats to be neutralized."

They finally make it to the door. The sound of the doorbell can be heard echoing inside.

"Everyone's on my list of potential threats."

"That can't be true."

His bodyguard only shrugs.

"You're my only priority," Geralt points out, standing tall and looking down at him with those unblinking mustard eyes. Jaskier feels the butterflies again. The ones in his stomach, from earlier. He swallows through a dry throat and wishes he'd brought the bottle of water with him. 

"Pfft," is what he manages to reply to that, taking a small and awkward step away from Geralt's imposing figure. _Bastard,_ he thinks annoyingly, _you can't say stuff like that to me_. "Even Cirilla? Is she a potential threat?"

Geralt goes to answer but is interrupted by Eist, who looks like he's barely woken up. The cup he's holding is empty and, Jaskier notices when he walks past him, he's still wearing slippers.

"Oh, bloody- morning! Come in, come in," his uncle runs a hand over his rebellious locks and closes the door behind them, "to what do I owe this pleasure? This early? The one day I get to sleep in?"

Jaskier is slowly easing himself down on their sofa when Eist finally gives him a once over and scrunches up his nose, "ugh, you look like utter shit, son." 

"Thanks."

"And you smell like it too."

"Sorry to barge in on you without notice," Geralt apologizes, and Eist returns his attention to him, "but this really couldn't wait. Preferably."

Jaskier lets out a grunt at a renewed sensation of nausea. Eist looks at him. Then looks at Geralt. Then at him again. And then he sighs and rubs a hand over his puffy eyes.

Jaskier's used to eliciting that reaction from people. 

Well, when he says people... He means family members. He means his parents. He means his aunt. And last but not least, of course, he means Yennefer.

"Bet I need my morning kick for this," he turns around and walks to the kitchen isle, still visible from the living room, and plugs in the coffee-maker, "make yourself at home, Geralt, please."

Jaskier peeks through his eyelashes to see his bodyguard still on the same spot he left him, planted there by the door like the bouncers at the club last night, as if the coat-hanger next to the entrance needs custody.

"Geralt, _siiiit,_ " Jaskier pleads, "we're not meeting the queen of England."

"So," Eist shouts from the next room as the sound of bubbling water increases in volume, "is this a small-cup-of-coffee problem, or one of those where I should skip the sugar and add a shot of vodka instead, oh nephew of mine?"

Jaskier scoffs.

"Well, let's put it this way: dad will finally have an excuse to disinherit me."

"How exciting!" his uncle exclaims, "usual drill then."

Geralt takes a sit on the sofa opposite and unbuttons his black jacket, humming again as a way of agreement. Jaskier stares at the tight white shirt he's wearing under it for nearly ten seconds before he realises he's doing it. 

That's definitely custom-made. Fabric looks like it's about to rip. 

_Not now._

He leans over the small bowl resting on the centre of the table and retrieves a couple of those wrapped mint candy, in a pitiful attempt to pretend that's what'd caught his attention in the first place. 

As if it isn't in Geralt's second nature to watch and see and notice everything and _anything_ around him. Because _everyone's on his list of potential threats, let's not forget that._

"Alright," his uncle comes to sit next to him, somehow managing to juggle three cups in one hand now, "hit me up."

Jaskier's leg starts bouncing up and down again and he slowly retrieves his phone out of his pocket. Reluctant.

Eist hands Geralt a brimming cup of hot coffee and Jaskier shakes his head when he offers him the second one. 

He really can't stomach anything right now.

And he apparently can't bring himself to talk either.

"Did you get kicked out of school?" Eist tries, giving his tie-less neck and unkept uniform a once-over, "got into another brawl with that _Vardo_ guy?"

"No," he sighs, "if only."

Jaskier bites his lip for another ten seconds and Eist, bless his soul, doesn't comment on his hesitance or the anxious way he plays with the candy wrap.

"I met a guy at the club - listen, you can't tell my father about this, all right? If you can't help that's fine, just let me break it to him first, I know he won't appreciate being told by a second source, you know how he gets, except that could actually happen of course which is why we're here in the first place," Jaskier is aware he's rambling on, and his headache is thriving on it, but he can't help himself.

"For goodness sake man, spit it out!" Eist interrupts, with a half-hearted laugh, sending Geralt a cautious look that Jaskier completely misses. "He won't hear it from me, you have my word. You met a guy. And...?" he prompts.

"He offered me some coke, I was shitless drunk and had some and he's got a bunch of pictures of me doing that," Jaskier finally blurts out, looking up to his bodyguard as if searching for back-up. Geralt actually gives a short nod, and Jaskier hands Eist the unlocked phone, "I don't know him, his name's Jonathan."

_Allegedly_ , a voice at the back of his mind provides. _Allegedly-Jonathan_.

For the longest moment, all that's heard is the sound of his uncle slurping up his coffee as he examines the screen with interest. Then the sound of Geralt almost choking on his own beverage at Eist's words:

"Ohhhhh, Jonathan you sneaky little cunt."

Jaskier doesn't find it in himself to laugh right now. He only shifts on the sofa uncomfortably and waits for Eist's resolution.

"Well, you've done well not answering back, that's a big no-no," his uncle says, returning the phone, "but you should probably turn off plane mode now to see whether he's chosen to shoot himself on the foot yet."

"What do you mean?" Jaskier frowns. 

He looks down and sees the little shape of the plane coloured blue.

Fuck. 

_No wonder_ texts weren't coming in.

Oh _fuck._

"Well, much as it will ruin _your_ reputation, Johnny-boy has a big shitstorm coming if he gets rid of those."

Soon as the wifi is back on, the phone starts sounding bells. One after another after another after another and Jaskier wants to throw it on the floor and stomp on it. See it shatter into a hundred pieces and pretend none of this is happening.

Eist leans closer to have a look at the shower of messages.

> From: **Renfri [11:14]  
> ** _omg jas, u actually got sent home?!  
> _ _i knew i shouldn't have left u alone  
> _ _no self-control whatsoever  
> _ _wtf hangover of the year_

He quickly taps on the other chat bubble.

> From: **Johnny  
>   
>  [10:57]  
> ** _jaskier  
> _ _dude  
> _ _hellooo  
> _ _????  
> _ _lol dont freak out  
> _ _bet ur freaking out  
>   
> _ **[10:59]** _  
> _ _k lets do this._ _how bout we meet tonight_ _?_
> 
> **[11:01]  
> ** _[1 missed call]  
> _ _hey_
> 
> **[11:05]  
> ** _i'm just messing with ya  
> _ _idk what happened, phone cam went off i guess  
> _ _wanna meet or not???_
> 
> **[11:15]  
> ** _let me know  
> _ _last night was real good_

Jaskier grinds his teeth so hard his jaw hurts.

_'Phone cam went off?' He really went with that?_

"Still doesn't count as blackmail," Jaskier tries, remembering Geralt's words and looking up at him only to see him coming over already. He finds himself handing his bodyguard the phone before he even asks for it. Because... well. They're a team now?

"Touché," Eist nods, leaning back on the sofa, "looks like this prick has too much free time on his hands. Here's what we'll do: you'll meet-" _Ding!_ he gets cut off by the notification and Jaskier looks up immediately, heart hammering in his chest.

_Ding, ding!  
_

"What's he saying?"

Geralt clears his throat but doesn't answer. Jaskier is quick to yank the phone off his hands.

> From: **Renfri [11:25]  
> ** is geralt nursing u back to health?   
> lucky brat   
> say hi from me (;

Jaskier accidentally swallows down the candy he'd been chewing and Eist's hand comes to pat him on the back when he starts coughing.

"Meet him and make him sign a statement. Worst case scenario he refuses and we press charges. He'll spend some nice little time behind bars. Be sure to mention that last part," Eist stands up, "you _don't_ agree to anything and you don't let him think he's got the upper-hand here - are you listening to me?"

"Yes," Jaskier stutters, feeling his cheeks turn all shades of red, "he signs a statement and I punch him in the face."

"No- that's not, don't-"

"He won't punch him in the face," Geralt provides, calmly.

Eist lets out one of those Jaskier-induced sighs.

"I'll get my laptop."  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all the kudos and for commenting! Feedback is what really keeps me going <3  
> Also come to tumblr and give [this moodboard](https://smuggsy.tumblr.com/post/630363869801529344/a-bodyguard-au-moodboard-inspired-by-my-fic-if-i) I just made some love! It's inspired on this story.
> 
> Disclaimer: I have no knowledge on law matters and only Google to help me out so if this whole blackmailing procedure thing is inaccurate I can only apologize lol.


End file.
